


The Atma Game

by nicht_alles_Gold



Category: Persona | Revelations Persona
Genre: Blood, Cannibalism, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:44:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3787111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicht_alles_Gold/pseuds/nicht_alles_Gold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A kind of "What If?" story, inspired by a couple of things, which basically exchanges the summoning ability from Persona for the transformation ability of Digital Devil Saga. Rend... Slaughter... Devour your enemies, kids!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Atma Game

Health-wise, he'd rarely had problems. Through his childhood, and now, adolescence, issues had been few and far between. Even when he'd had just the flu, once, treatment had been immediate and over-compensating. The benefits of being the only heir to a powerful family, he supposed.

So obviously, he'd never felt more miserable than he did now.

At first, his current form was the only (albeit very obvious) problem. Without panicking entirely, he had determined the logical solution would be waiting, to see if the transformation would fade. In the case it did not, they would move forward from there. Any human could last a handful of days without many ill effects.

Apparently, that was not true of his new demonic figure, and at this point, he was bedridden, with no cure in sight. There seemed to be a disconnect between his hazy mind and still body. His limbs were weak and heavy, and his torso felt cold, so cold he questioned if he was warm-blooded anymore. Blankets were heaped over his malformed body, but they did nothing to help, and he shivered and shuddered, barely able to lift his... head, yes, he could at least call it his head... to dribble tasteless bile into a bowl by the side of his bed.

It was becoming more difficult to retain his sense of self. When he had managed to half sleep through the night, his dreams were vicious and horrible, enough to make him feel even more ill when he awoke. The actions he envisioned should have been disgusting. As the days passed, they became tolerable.

However, the worst part was the hunger. It rippled through him, and his stomach seemed to twitch and writhe. They had tried everything, but it was all revolting and he rarely managed to keep it down for more than a few minutes, as if it were poison. Raw meat, as a last resort, had been bland, almost tasteless, and only suspended his appetite for a few hours before it, too, was rejected by his new body.

Images of all the expensive restaurants he'd been to in life danced in his head. All the foods he had sampled, never caring if he emptied the plate, the dinner parties hosted by his parents, barbecues, school lunches, anything. Steak, ribs, loin, flank, the image of too red rare meat sitting in a pool of liquid... he could hear Yamaoka's steps approaching far before he opened the door, and tried to put it from his mind. At least his enhanced senses did not seem to be dulled despite his current condition. The man was trying to be quiet, too. He could tell, and it made him feel uncomfortably predatory.

"Master...?" he asked quietly, the door clicking open, "How are you feeling?" His voice was hopeful.

"...Terrible," Nanjo rasped. It was still strange to hear that foreign voice, much, much deeper than his own, coming out somewhere above his consciousness, rather than to the front. He pushed some of the useless blankets away, so he could see... well, he couldn't see, he didn't have proper eyes anymore. Somehow, like a reptile's third eye, perhaps, he saw in something akin to a heat pattern, but very clearly, the colors more true to life, and also—this was more difficult to describe if anyone had asked—some kind of ingrained hunting sense mixed with his memories of what he knew the area to look like, what he knew Yamaoka looked like.

He hated it, because anything moving and breathing was **food** in this vision.

Yamaoka stood to his side, worry detectable through some unfamiliar, animal sense. He laid a hand cautiously against whatever he approximated to be Nanjo's forehead, but it was thickly plated and surely nothing could be felt. It was close to his mouth, as well, and Nanjo's saliva thickened. _No_ , he told himself.

The butler removed his hand wordlessly, and stood still for a moment, observing. "I probably have to... get used to it," Nanjo lied, feeling a pang of guilt.

Yamaoka would do anything for him, but he couldn't now. He wished his parents were here instead, because maybe he wouldn't feel so awful for lying. At this point, he was afraid he might... die. The hunger, the weakness, they were screaming from his primordial brain that he had to do something before it was too late. Perhaps it already was too late? At least then it would be over.

Such a thought made him feel worse. "I'll try to sleep again... maybe I'll feel better in the morning..."

"It's only noon now."

"Oh." Were the hours and hours of laying in bed were making him disoriented, or did daily cycles just not matter anymore?

Yamaoka forced a smile. "Master..." The word lingered, the man seemingly at a loss, or maybe he was withholding. "I'll check on you later," he finished.

"Yes... Thank you," Nanjo said.

He wished he had been able to say those words as genuinely as he wanted to the man who had not only served him, but... treated him with respect and ultimate kindness for his entire life. Could he really last much longer? He had lost hope already, and the image of Yamaoka coming back to his room, and himself being dead, when he was only 17 and didn't know what he even thought about death, his parent's reaction, the funeral, _his_ funeral, how his monstrous corpse would be handled... he would think it impossible to feel much worse, but guilt and fear were still able to eat away at his psyche.

It dawned on him that everyone had played it. The Atma Game. He hadn't seen any of his schoolmates since. Were they too...

His imagination antagonized him as he attempted to rest. Eventually he reached a sort of starved, wakeful sleep, where everything was twisted and terrible, and he couldn't break free of his dreams this time. His friends appeared as hideous armored beings, first starving themselves, then gorging on humans—they were separate from humanity now. The school was overrun with creatures—no, the entire city, the world. The sky looked different, and civilization as it was now known was demolished. Everyone fought in the streets, and he was among them, proud to stand against all sides. Demons and humans alike were his enemies. Everything was stained red, and he was powerful. A throne of corpses, a palace of corpses, it wasn't enough. Smaller demons became table scraps, only those even close to his stature were worth being engulfed. Before, he would have considered these nightmares but now they were ambitions—slaughtering anyone and everyone, soaking in their blood, filling his maw with flesh, intestines, organs, meat, meat, meat...

He woke with a hollow moan, and panted, gasping for air. His stomach raged with hunger, and his limbs were practically immobile. His mind was hazy, uncollected. His heart actually hurt, the pulse sounding in his ears.

He was going to die, in this horrible, foreign body, and he couldn't even cry, just sob in a broken, monstrous voice.

Nanjo sensed hasty movement from the door's direction. "Don't," he manged to choke out. He didn't want Yamaoka to see him in his death throws. It would break the man's heart.

Yamaoka came closer anyway.

But it was not Yamaoka—it was a creature, a mass of gray, leathery skin, spines. Yet it was, he could smell it. His body reacted with a surge of adrenaline before he could consider, and he whipped upright, more quickly than he'd thought possible. Unsteady steps drove him forward on a dazed, unfathomable journey.

He wanted to stop. He needed to stop.

Yamaoka quaked, but did not budge. Nanjo could feel his fear like a wave, could sense his vulnerability, and could taste his sacrifice before it ever met his mouth. Drool dripped from his teeth. His fingers flexed, his legs tensed, and a roar rolled from his throat.

Instinct overwhelmed his pride, and he couldn't stop.

The demon leaped onto the invader, clubbing its foe in the head to daze it, and ripped one arm off at the shoulder with claws and teeth, disabling it and providing a fraction of nourishment. It tore open the stomach, devouring what it could while the blood was still warm, before the last breath was exhaled, then gobbled the legs, filling its stomach greedily with gray skin, and crunching bone, full of sweet marrow. It guzzled slippery organs, salty taste snapping pleasantly on the tongue. This was its first feast, and it marveled at the resilience of its prey. Nearly entirely deconstructed, skull partially caved, only upper torso and head and one arm remaining, it was alive, and all the more delicious for it. Demonic willpower was unparalleled. The beast relished swallowing the rest, furiously shoveling the lungs and heart into its mouth, shattered ribs and spine cracking in its teeth, the second rent arm a palate cleanser between main course and dessert. The skull and brains and eyes had hardly cooled as they ruptured in his mouth, the various textures a marvelous finale to a deserved meal.

The demon bellowed in victory as its regal banquet quickly finished. It was more than satiated, it was stuffed with meat, filled to the brim with energy and strength.

Now that it was satisfied it would not be starved, that death pathetic for a demon of its standing, the other consciousness could fight back. The hardened demon practically melted away and Nanjo stumbled, knees cracking on the hardwood floors. He was soaked in blood, could taste it in his throat, the scent filled his nose, and he sat back on his calves, stared down at the dark stain that covered the floor and cried.

**Author's Note:**

> I've drawn all the P2 crew as DDS-style demons before (based on a twitter prompt, but there are also some P4 stories with this twist on here, and some art elsewhere, check 'em out), and I kind of wanted the same treatment for P1... but I had more ideas for writing it instead. Hopefully I'll get through everyone, though I'm sure it'll take ages. It'll probably mostly cover a couple of vignettes of different experiences of the characters, so no epic story line, most likely, but at least they should be varied?
> 
> Nanjo's first cause he's #1.


End file.
